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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28397634">LtCdr</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka'>yeaka</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek, Star Trek: Enterprise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:47:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,091</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28397634</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Trip picks an underling for the away team.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Malcolm Reed/Charles "Trip" Tucker III</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>LtCdr</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maybe it’s because he’s the chief engineer, not just the second officer, that he gets to be the head of the away team—that he gets first dibs and first call on both other officers and whatever supplies he wants. The glint in Hoshi’s eyes brings the laughter over last night’s lunch to mind, where she teased that he always gets picked because he’s the captain’s <i>favourite</i>—him and T’Pol always vying for that number one spot. Rank would suggest she’s in first place, but he’s invited to private dinners in the captain’s mess just as often, and he makes more of an effort to understand water polo than she does. Not that it’s a real competition. He has the luxury of both being good at his job <i>and</i> friends with the captain—doesn’t have to be in just one good position. </p><p>Once he knows Captain Archer can’t go himself—too busy trading veiled threats and invitations with Shran in orbit around the unexplored planet—it’s easy to pick the rest of the team. They’ll need a translator, in case they run into anyone unexpected, and a soldier, in case they run into any<i>thing</i> unexpected. And Travis may as well come along to round things out, just in case things get bad and their shuttle has to outrun guns or bad weather. Hoshi and Travis are on the bridge when the call comes, but Malcolm’s back in the armory. He might be checking their firepower, just in case things get a little testy with their Andorian on-again-off-again friends. Sometimes paranoia comes in handy. </p><p>It also helps that Malcolm wasn’t around yesterday for Hoshi’s speculation, so he can’t rib Trip about it like Travis can. He’s right around where Trip expects: hovering over a panel in the corner, running through their weapons log. As though it’s not all mounted on the wall, plain to see. Trip knows Malcolm could pluck any odd phaser up and work it like a pro, both the little stunners the size of his hand and the launchers bigger than his arm. That probably shouldn’t get Trip’s blood going, but it does. So does watching Malcolm’s eyes glow over the manifest. He gets so sucked into his work sometimes that he doesn’t see the world around him—doesn’t notice the burly man sneaking up on him. It’s the same way Trip gets over his engines, and the biggest thing they have in common: sheer love of the job. Of this ship. Then Trip’s right in Malcolm’s shadow, and he slots himself behind Malcolm like a well-worn cape, clinging tight to his back. There’s a slight hitch of breath and nothing more—maybe Malcolm did notice him come in after all. </p><p>Malcolm says right away, “Not now,” without clarifying or even turning around to look Trip in the eye. Both hands stay on the terminal in front of him. Trip’s have snuck around Malcolm’s waist, because the door shut behind him, and there’s no one else around. And Malcolm always feels right at home just there, tucked under Trip’s arm, just as tall and broad and <i>thick</i> as Trip is, but maybe a fraction colder, like he needs some good old Southern charm to thaw him out. </p><p>Despite the overt affection, Trip was really going to jump right to the chase: the visit to the planet below. But Malcolm being so uptight makes him want to slack off. If there’s anyone that needs teasing on the ship, it’s Malcolm. Trip rubs a slow circle around his chest while he stiffly runs through their ammunition list. </p><p>Trip notes, “I heard you spurned the cap’n’s dinner invitation again last night.”</p><p>Malcolm gets a little stiffer, though not in the way Trip usually likes. He mutters back, “I wouldn’t say ‘spurned’...”</p><p>“I would. And something about you thinking we shouldn’t be fraternizing with superior officers...?”</p><p>He can see Malcolm’s reflection on the polished screen: bright pink lips pursed in a frown. He probably said those exact words, and not for the first time. It’s just like him to think that—to act so <i>proper</i>, even though Trip’s seen him completely fall apart under the right kind of pressure. It takes a minute for Malcolm to grunt, “Yes.”</p><p>“Well, that’s a real shame, given that I’m technically your commanding officer...”</p><p>Trip tucks his chin over Malcolm’s shoulder in time to see the eye-roll. “You run a completely different section...”</p><p>“I’m the second officer. And last I checked, <i>Lieutenant</i>—”</p><p>Malcolm cuts him off with an annoyed huff of breath. “What do you want, Commander?”</p><p>And suddenly, just like that, Trip has a whole new theory about why Malcolm so often greets him by rank, even though they should be on a first-name basis. </p><p>In fact, Malcolm having a class-system kink would explain a whole lot of things, and it’s definitely not the time or place, but it makes Trip thrust a knee between Malcolm’s thighs and bend forward, pressing him into the terminal—Malcolm resists just enough to keep from being folded in two. Trip drawls right next to his ear, “See, if I were captain, I’d <i>make</i> you sit with me for private meals...”</p><p>If it’s not a rank kink, it’s close enough. Trip’s fingers trail up Malcolm’s throat, not in the rough play they sometimes go back and forth on, but just to feel his pulse beating like a healthy warp engine. His body thrums like the deck plates, getting hot as red metal. Even Malcolm’s voice wavers when he counters, “This is <i>very</i> inappropriate...”</p><p>“That’s the idea, <i>Lieutenant</i>...”</p><p>A tiny little thrust against Malcolm’s backside, and Trip’s gone too far—he’s elbowed in the stomach hard enough to wind him. He stumbles backwards, grip gone, and Malcolm takes the chance to turn around. He lunges forward to back Trip right up against the silver walls, right next to a wrack of phasers, slamming him into the bulkhead like a pissed off Klingon. Except Malcolm goes for his mouth instead of his throat, and Trip surges back. He could scold Malcolm for that—make a joke about assaulting a senior officer and assign him to the brig or Trip’s bed.</p><p>But as kinky as Malcolm is, Trip’s a simple man. He gets his hands on a great ass, and he’s done. He forgets the roleplay in a series of insanely inappropriate bites and gropes, and when they finally report to the shuttle bay with their uniforms wrinkled more than Phlox’s forehead, Hoshi’s got a whole new thing to tease him over.</p>
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